


A wicked wind

by Nary



Category: Shankill Butchers - Sarah Jarosz
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Brother-Sister Relationships, Creepy, Gen, Grandmothers, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:58:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4034359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was their grandmother's story first.  Or perhaps it had been her grandmother's before that - by the time Janna thought to ask her, the old woman's memories were scattered and fragmented and it was impossible to know where she'd first heard it.  "It's a true story, from the old times," she would tell them, and that was as close as they got.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A wicked wind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Teaotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaotter/gifts).



It was their grandmother's story first. Or perhaps it had been her grandmother's before that - by the time Janna thought to ask her, the old woman's memories were scattered and fragmented and it was impossible to know where she'd first heard it. "It's a true story, from the old times," she would tell them, and that was as close as they got. When Bruno, who was always the practical one, tried to press her about when it had happened, or what were the names of the children who'd been taken, she would only shake her head. "You ask too many questions..." That would be the end of their grandmother's stories for that night, in which case it would fall to Janna, as the oldest, to take over the job.

Janna's brothers would curl up in their beds - the littlest one, Ander, was still technically in a crib, but he'd learned to climb out and cuddle up with one of his bigger brothers, whichever one was willing to put up with him. "He'll wet the bed," Gregore complained, foisting him off onto Bruno instead, who pulled a face. Janna sat cross-legged on the trunk at the end of Bruno's bed, and waited until they were quiet. That was another thing she'd learned from her grandmother - there's no point in shushing them, just wait them out. Once they'd settled down, she'd begin. 

"Once there were three little boys, brothers just like you." Janna could remember, back before the youngest of them was born, that the story used to be different. Then it had been about a girl and two little boys. But now she was older, almost grown-up really, and she wasn't a part of the story anymore, she was the one telling it. It was safer that way, she thought, remembering how much it used to scare her. 

"They were like you," she continued in her most ominous voice, "but much more naughty. They never listened to anything their parents told them, or went to sleep when it was bedtime. 'If you don't behave, I'll put up the sign, and The Shankill Butchers will come and catch you awake,' their mother used to say, 'and then...'"

"Then what?" asked Gregore with a gruesome relish, even though he'd heard the story a hundred times before.

"Then they'll take their great big knives and chop you into little pieces!" she said, miming a sudden stabbing motion towards Bruno, who jumped despite himself, and then pretended he hadn't. 

"But these boys, being very naughty, didn't believe their mother. The oldest one thought that there was no such thing as the Shankill Butchers - he was much too big to believe in such tales," she said, still fixing her eyes on Bruno. "The middle one, he still believed, but he was at an age where chopping and killing seemed exciting, not frightening," she continued, looking at Gregore, whose face flushed red. "And the littlest only wanted to do whatever his big brothers did."

Ander giggled nervously and buried his face in his brother's side. "It's only a story," Bruno said, cuddling him closer anyway.

"So night after night, they stayed up until all hours, waiting to see the Shankill Butchers - daring them to come and get them. Their mother cried and their father threatened them with a whupping if they didn't obey, but they just laughed. At last, their parents knew there was nothing they could do, if their sons were so determined and pigheaded. 'We've warned you,' they told the boys. 'We're putting up the sign, and we're leaving now.' Their mother, weeping all the while, put the sign in place - a red cloth hanging from the lamp post outside their house. It blew in the night wind, fluttering like a flag." She waved her fingers, letting them catch in the lamplight so that the shadows flitted and danced on the walls. "And their parents left them there, all alone."

"The boys gathered at the window, waiting." This wasn't the way Janna's grandmother used to tell it - in her homeland, the houses didn't have big windows of glass, so the boys peeked out from the doorway instead - but she made the change so that she could gesture to the bedroom window, where the streetlight shone more brightly than the moonlight.

The boys all turned their heads to face it, drawn in by the tale whether they wanted to be or not. 

"They waited until midnight came, wondering if anything would happen. They waited for so long that the littlest one began to nod off, and the others grew weary. 'It's only a story - they don't even exist,' the eldest was just saying, when they saw the moon turn red, and heard the scrape-scratch-scrape-scratch of metal dragging over the stones." She mimicked the sound as her grandmother used to, drawing her fingernails over the top of the metal trunk so that they gave a high-pitched screech even as she thumped with her foot on the wooden floor.

"They were all wide awake then, watching as the Shankill Butchers drew closer and closer, riding all... the way... up to the lamp post." She paused, enjoying the way her brothers all held their breath. "They all got down off their horses, and one meaty, bloodstained hand reached out to tear down the red cloth," she whispered, and snatched at Bruno's blanket, tugging it sharply. "Then they turned towards the house, walking up slowly up to the door."

"The boys saw the gleam of the red moonlight on their cleavers, and the dark, dark stains of blood on their clothes, and tried to hide. They clambered into their beds and pretended to be asleep, for they'd always been told that the Shankill Butchers would only take you if you were awake. They lay there with their eyes closed and heads under their blankets, trying not to tremble. So they didn't see the Butchers coming closer and closer - only heard the heavy thud of their feet and the sharp scrape of their knives."

Janna's brothers knew what they were supposed to do. They hid under their blankets, while Janna rose from her seat and stomped menacingly around the room. "Is this one sleeping?" she growled, making her voice as low as she could, and poked one of the lumps with her finger, grinning to herself as she heard Gregore squeak. "Is that one sleeping?" She circled the beds to jab Bruno, who gave out a muffled protest. "Is the little one sleeping?" she said, and grabbed Ander up out of bed, still bundled in his blanket, so that he shrieked and thrashed as though he was being murdered himself. 

She held him tight, sitting down on the edge of the bed, and when he was quieted down again, gave the last few words of the story, the way her grandmother had always told it, no matter what other variations there were in the middle. "Those children were never seen again - their parents only found three pools of blood on the floor. But others who dared to peek outside when the moon shone red said that there were three more Butchers on the hunt."

It took a little while to settle them down for sleep after that. She tried to put the baby back into his crib, but he resisted, wanting her to keep cuddling him, or to go find Mama, until finally she was able to placate him by tucking him back in with Bruno again. Finally, when they were all safely under their covers, and the room was quiet, Janna slipped out into the hall. 

She went to her own room, which she didn't have to share with anyone. She wasn't tired yet, and went to the window, opening it to let in the night breeze. She sat there braiding her hair before bed, not quite waiting for something, but any observer would have seen that she wasn't quite indifferent either. 

The streetlight pooled on the stones below. 

In the distance she heard the faint rumble of a motorcycle's engine, and looked up, eyes brightening. The engine cut out at the corner of their street, and the sound was replaced by the clunk and sputter of the motorcycle being pushed along instead. She waited, frightened but also secretly thrilled when she realized that he'd come to see her despite her parents' warnings. He stood there in the streetlight, staring up at her longingly. She knew that she wouldn't climb down and go with him tonight - but maybe one day...

The wind caught one of the ribbons from her braid and carried it off. The man her parents had warned her about reached out his hand - big and red in the coppery glow of the light - and caught it. Janna smiled, blushing, and waved to him before she closed the window. 

She would be in her own story now.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [naryrising](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/naryrising) if you want to ask questions, make requests, or chat!


End file.
